Court of Swans, page 16
She remembered how brave her brothers had been, how they had fought, how Sir Geoffrey had risked his life to come to their rescue and take out the guard at the bottom of the steps. And she would fight too. She would not allow Sir Elliot to harm her. She would do whatever she had to do to get away from this odious man and get back so she could help her brothers escape.
God, help me, I pray. Come and save me.
She walked slowly up the steps behind Sir Elliot, his hand still holding on to her forearm. When he reached a door at the top of the stairs, he opened it with the key and pulled her inside, then locked it. Delia watched him place the key in his pocket.
“You were always meant to be mine,” he said with that wolfish grin. His top teeth on either side were even pointed like a wolf’s.
Delia glanced around the room. There was a stool against the wall, a bed, and a ceramic pitcher of water and a small metal cup on a table. Nothing else. But she would find something to help her escape.
Her brothers and all the female servants had spoken about men like Sir Elliot. They had warned her. She knew what he wanted from her. But how would she get away from him? He had locked the door and the key was in his pocket.
Somehow she had to get that key.
Sir Elliot grabbed her other arm and pulled her closer. His lips suddenly came at her.
Delia turned her head and her gaze locked on the pitcher of water.
“I’m not ready.” There was desperation in her voice. Did he hear it? “I need a drink of water.”
He let her go. He must have been confident she could not get away. His eyes followed her as she walked around him to the pitcher of water. She lifted it. Why did her hand start to shake now, when she needed her strength? God, help me.
“You are all mine now,” he said, coming up behind her.
She could do this. She would do it.
Delia spun around and slammed the pitcher into Sir Elliot’s head. It shattered, sending water all over both of them, but he did not fall to the floor. He bent forward, yelling and holding his head and cursing her.
What was she to do now?
Delia ran to the stool and picked it up. Sir Elliot was drawing his sword and stumbling to one side. She raised the stool over her head and swung it at Sir Elliot’s head. It connected with his forehead with a loud crack, and he fell over, hitting the floor with a thud.
Delia screamed. Then she laughed. Her hands were shaking so hard, her breath coming so fast, she bent forward, propping her hands on her bent knees, and tried to slow her breathing and calm herself. But she never took her eyes off Sir Elliot. Would he jump up and kill her with his sword? Any moment he might open his eyes.
She had to get out of there, get back to her brothers.
She stood over his still body. O God, forgive me if I’ve killed him. But please don’t let him wake up yet.
Her hands shook as she reached into his outer garment, a wool cloak, fearing every moment that he would open his eyes and grab her wrist. She watched his face as she slipped her hand into a pocket. Her fingers touched something metal and she pulled out the key.
Her hands were shaking so much she couldn’t even get the key into the keyhole. It was taking too long. She looked over her shoulder. He still had not moved. Finally, she got the key inside and turned it. The lock clicked and the door opened.
Suddenly she remembered she needed the bag of food for her brothers. She turned and faced the room again. Her bag was in the middle of the floor. Should she go back inside for it? Her heart pounding, she ran in and grabbed it, then ran out of the room.
She could leave the door ajar so someone would find Sir Elliot and prevent him from dying alone in the room from his injuries. But she couldn’t have him following her either. Her stomach felt sick at the thought of him waking up and running after her or finding her brothers. If she’d eaten anything, she probably would have vomited. She closed the door, locked it, and took the key with her as she ran downstairs.
Forcing herself to slow to a walk, she moved through the dining guests on the ground level of the inn, her eyes focused on the door. She flipped her hood up and over her head and stepped out into the street.
“Left at the sign of the wild boar, right at the apothecary shop, and left through the marketplace.” She repeated the directions over and over, though she kept getting interrupted by memories of her terror, the horror of what he’d been planning to do to her, and the horrible thing she had just done.
That wasn’t my fault, God. I had to defend myself.
Sir Elliot had tried to take advantage of her in the vilest way, just when she needed help the most. Men like him were the devil’s tools. She did not have to feel bad about what she’d done. She did what she had to do and she wasn’t sorry.
She turned left at the sign with the boar.
How could he have treated her that way? Threatening to get Sir Geoffrey killed for helping them, threatening to turn her over to the authorities, willing to let her and her brothers be executed.
Her heart staggered inside her. How terrifying to have made yet another enemy in Sir Elliot—if he was alive. What would he do to them when he awakened? Would he try to get Sir Geoffrey in trouble? Would he chase after her?
She looked over her shoulder. No one was following her, but a soldier was nearby. He was turning his head in her direction, so she shifted her eyes forward again and kept walking, clutching her bag of food to her chest.
Ahead was the apothecary shop. She turned right. The marketplace was not far away. Her stomach churned as she remembered all the king’s soldiers who had been milling around there with Sir Elliot, asking questions. Delia pulled her hood lower over her face and kept her head down, walking straight ahead. Perhaps if she walked with quickness and purpose, no one would stop her or ask any questions.
She turned right and plunged into the rows of vendors and the crowd of people.
Seventeen
More people shuffled around the market now, as the sun had risen above the horizon. Delia saw flashes of the king’s colors, letting her know soldiers were about. Why had she not gone a different way, around the marketplace instead of directly through it? She hadn’t been thinking clearly. Her mind was so jumbled.
What if she had hit Sir Elliot so hard he never woke up? What would the soldiers do if they knew she had killed one of their brothers-in-arms? No doubt they would treat her very roughly. They’d beat her and drag her back to the Tower of London and lock her away. They’d try her in court and have her executed.
Her heart thumped and her stomach threatened to heave. When she was finally at the other end of the marketplace, she turned left toward the safe house.
When she arrived, her brothers were kneeling beside Edwin’s bed. His eyes were open, but his cheeks were red and he looked feverish.
Roland moved toward Delia. “Berenger and Gerard are giving Edwin some of the herbs the surgeon sent with Sir Geoffrey.”
“Good. Has he been talking?” Delia threw off her hood and set down the bag of food and went to Edwin’s bedside.
“A little.”
“I brought some food.” She smiled at Roland and pointed to the bag. “Edwin? I’m so glad you’re awake.”
Edwin grunted. “I am not so glad.”
“Are you in much pain?”
“One might think an arm that was no longer there could not hurt, but one would be wrong. I can still feel it.”
Delia swallowed. “I brought some bread and cheese. Do you think you can eat something?”
“I don’t know.”
She took a loaf of bread and broke off a good-size hunk. Edwin held it in his right hand and took a bite. He chewed slowly and finally swallowed. “Thank you, Delia.”
Her brothers all stood around, as quiet as if they were standing in church during the Holy Eucharist.
“You were gone a long time,” Gerard said. “Did you have any trouble?”
She could suddenly see Sir Elliot’s lips coming toward her, feel his hand gripping her shoulder.
“Do you know if they’ve discovered we escaped?” Berenger said.
Delia glanced at her three youngest brothers. They were staring up at her.
“We should eat now. We can talk later.” Delia felt the tears starting to prick her eyes. No, no, no, she wouldn’t think about what happened. She mustn’t frighten her brothers. All turned out well. She escaped, and she didn’t want to make much ado over nothing. She’d been frightened, but nothing bad had taken place. But the tears continued to gather behind her eyes.
She turned away from her brothers’ questioning gazes. “Let us break our fast, shall we? Some bread and cheese will make us feel better.” She handed out the loaves. David gave her his knife so that she could slice the cheese and give a portion to each of them.
They ate the bread and cheese quietly, casting many glances Delia’s way. She tried to eat as well, but the food kept getting stuck in her throat.
Charles passed her a cup of water. She drank, but water went down the wrong way and she started coughing. Tears squeezed from her eyes, but she could blame it on the coughing fit.
“Delia?” Gerard raised his brows at her. “What happened this morning?”
Delia took another drink of water. But she couldn’t put them off any longer. “They know you have escaped. I saw several guards on the streets, mostly in the marketplace, and they were asking people about us.”
Suddenly she wanted to tell her brothers everything, even wished Sir Geoffrey was there so he could hear as well. But that was foolish. Still, she needed to tell her brothers.
“Something did happen. I was recognized by Sir Elliot, the knight I thought was our friend. He is not our friend, as it turns out. He tried to get me to tell him where you are, but when I refused, he threatened to tell the other soldiers who I was, and also to tell them that Sir Geoffrey helped us escape.”
“That dirty— I’ll show him who to threaten.” Merek’s face was hard and set.
“What happened?” Gerard asked, leaning toward her.
Delia’s hands started shaking as badly as before. Should she tell them everything? She’d already alarmed them. She might as well reveal all of it.
“He said if I didn’t go with him he would turn Sir Geoffrey in. So I went. He took me to an inn . . . but I escaped.” The horror, fury, and dismay on her brothers’ faces made her question whether she should have told them.
Merek called him a bad name.
“How did you get away?” Roland stared at her with big, round, innocent eyes.
“I broke the water pitcher over his head.” Her voice was starting to shake. “And when he didn’t fall down, I hit him in the head with a stool.”
Delia started to laugh, as she had done when she knocked Sir Elliot unconscious. Had she gone mad? She was just so horrified and relieved at the same time. But then she remembered the way the stool had felt and sounded as it connected with Sir Elliot’s head, and her laughter turned to sobs. He had squeezed her arm so hard it hurt. The feelings washed over her and her shoulders shook. She covered her face with her hands.
“Are you all right? Is he dead?” Gerard’s voice rose over her other brothers’. But poor Edwin. He didn’t need to hear this.
“He didn’t hurt me, and I don’t know.” She shook her head, pushing back the sobs with a deep inhale.
“I will kill him!” Merek and Berenger said at the same time.
Edwin said something that Delia couldn’t make out.
“Let Delia speak,” Gerard said.
“I only know he didn’t get up or open his eyes. But I got away. He didn’t hurt me, and he didn’t follow me. No one knows where we are.”
The thought of killing a man, of Sir Elliot lying dead from her blows to his head, sent a cold, hollow feeling all through her. But if he was dead, at least he couldn’t hurt her or cast suspicion on Sir Geoffrey.
God, forgive me if that is a sinful thought. I never meant to kill him.
Her brothers gathered around her, putting a hand or an arm around her. But she didn’t want to take their attention away from Edwin.
“I am not hurt. Only frightened.” A sob rose into her throat, but she managed to suppress it. She took a deep breath, calming herself again. “I am well.” She wiped her face with her hands and even managed to smile.
“We should be asking Edwin what he needs. Edwin?” She moved closer to her brother’s bedside. “Is there anything we can do for you?”
“No,” he said quietly. “I am only glad you were not harmed today. And I am sorry we weren’t there to defend you.” His voice was so solemn and sad, it wrenched Delia’s heart.
“Do not worry, Edwin,” Delia said, gently touching her brother’s forearm. She could still feel her hand shaking, but at least the tremor wasn’t visible. “Once we are able to prove your innocence to the king, things will get better.”
“Do you think we will be able to?” Roland was looking up at her with wide eyes. Charles and David were watching her as well.
“Of course, Roland. We need to have faith that all will work out as it is supposed to, in our favor.”
But even as she said the words, she wasn’t sure she had that kind of faith. In fact, her doubts seemed to gain strength every day. She only had to look around her to see the pain that injustice had caused her beloved brothers, the only people in the world she loved—the only people in the world who loved her. Why would God allow that? What possible purpose could it serve?
But her attitude was not right. Her thoughts were rebellious, yet she could not unthink them or stop feeling what she felt.
And what was happening to Sir Geoffrey? Would he be executed for helping them? It seemed more likely than ever.
“We have to find those two witnesses,” Merek said, balling up his fist and striking the palm of his other hand. “We’ll force them to tell us who paid them to lie.”
“Yes,” Berenger said. “We’ll drag them to the king and make them confess.”
“Why would they confess?” Gerard shook his head. “We have to find them and make friends with them, see if they will tell us in confidence who is behind all this.”
“We know it is our stepmother,” Delia said.
“Yes, but we must have proof.” Edwin’s voice sounded weak, but he was thinking clearly, at least.
“Perhaps we need to go back to Bedfordshire and find out who actually set the fires and vandalized the property we’re accused of destroying and who killed the coroner.” Gerard glanced around at his brothers.
“You boys are so reckless, talking of going here and there when you must not be seen,” Delia said. “You must stay hidden. There is no way for you to survive if you don’t.”
Merek stared sullenly at the floor and Gerard at the wall. Berenger pressed a hand to the back of his neck and looked thoughtful.
“We must get the information that will clear us of wrongdoing,” Gerard said. “Yes, it is a risk to go out, but we must take that chance, for we cannot prove our innocence while hiding away.”
“Let me go. I can do it.” Delia held out her hand, pleading.
“No.” Gerard looked kind but firm.
“I am sorry to say it,” Berenger said, “but it is even more of a risk for you, Delia. Consider what happened today when you only went out to get food.”
“That was because I encountered Sir Elliot.” Delia could feel the heat rising inside her. “I can avoid him in the future, if he’s even alive.” The thought that he might be dead, might never be able to harm them again, caused a flood of relief to crash over her.
“There are other guards who would recognize you.” Edwin spoke up from his bed.
“How would you travel to Bedfordshire? How will you befriend John Albright and Andrew Goddard?” Gerard shook his head again. “It is not safe for a woman.”
“I can disguise myself as a man.” The desperation was welling up inside her. “I can do it. I know I can.”
Her brothers were all shaking their heads at her. “We can’t let you put yourself in such peril.” Berenger touched her arm, as if to comfort her, but Delia pulled away from him.
“I am not a child.” She almost said, “And I hate being a woman.” She turned her back on her brothers, bringing her hand up to her eyes.
She’d always embraced being a woman, but after what had happened with Sir Elliot . . . Being a woman made her vulnerable, made her not powerful enough to do what she needed to do to take care of her brothers.
O God, why did You make me a woman? So that men could try to take advantage of me? I am no good to my brothers when they need me the most. Am I only useful for making them sweaters?
The pain inside wrapped around her heart.
An arm came around her shoulders. Her hands were over her face as she struggled to calm her breathing. Finally, she took a deep breath, stilled her trembling lip, and removed her hands from her face. She was surprised to see Gerard was the one embracing and comforting her. Berenger was her most affectionate brother, but Gerard’s gaze was also full of compassion.
“You have had a hard day and night. Why don’t you lie down and get some sleep.”
If she’d been a man, he would not have thought she needed to lie down. But the other part of her was grateful that he seemed to understand she felt shaken.
“I fought him,” Delia said, quiet but emphatic. “I didn’t let him hurt me.”
“I am very proud of you,” Gerard said.
“Great work, Delia,” Berenger said.
“You have earned a rest,” Gerard went on. “Besides, there is nothing to do at the moment.”
“What about Edwin?” she whispered.
“We’ll take care of him. Go on and lie down.”
“This mattress is the softest,” David said, motioning her closer to the fireplace.
Should she do what they were asking? Should she allow them to take care of her? She was supposed to be taking care of them. But she was so very weary.
“You will not do anything daft, will you? You won’t go out and try to find those men?”
“We need a plan first,” Merek said.
